


this alone is enough

by matchaball



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged Up, Baking, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post Reveal, how these kids feel a few years down the line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchaball/pseuds/matchaball
Summary: How easy it is, Marinette thinks, to be normal. And how hard it is, to fight for it sometimes.
This is what she believes: the fight for balance is worth it, for those who deserve it.
And this is what she knows: that she’d do it again, a thousand times over, for him. For them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ming85](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ming85).



> Merry Christmas to [ming85](http://ming85.tumblr.com/), for I am your secret santa!! Here’s some post-reveal Adrinette and Ladynoir with all the emotional vulnerability and witty banter and fluffy endings that I could muster. I used a few of your [stunning](http://ming85.tumblr.com/post/147886729986/companion-piece-to-my-friends-wonderful-fic) [works](http://ming85.tumblr.com/post/145779872686/part-4-of-paris-landscapes-mixed-with-fanart) [of art](http://ming85.tumblr.com/post/138029066509/another-little-landscape-practice-with-paris-and) as [inspiration](http://ming85.tumblr.com/post/151105048058/not-quite-ready-to-say-goodbye-to-summer-part-6) :D I hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> (P.S: When presented to a man, a white camellia is thought to bring luck!)

Wakefulness comes not in a slow and gentle gradation, but in a sudden intake of breath, leaving awareness blindly catching up from the depths of the subconscious and trailing like an afterthought.

A smothered gasp catches in Adrien’s throat as he opens his eyes to greet the dark. It takes him a few dizzying moments to ground himself.

His head rolls over. His phone tells him it’s 2:14, but he already instinctively knows that. He’s woken up at odd hours for almost a decade, long enough to establish the habit of waking up during the witching hours in preparation for a fight no matter how tired he may be.

Somewhere near the top of his head, Plagg’s snores tickle through his hair. No deviation from Plagg’s breathing pattern indicates that anything might be wrong, but Adrien knows that nothing short of an apocalypse or the crinkle of a camembert wrapper will wake the kwami up. It’s easy enough to tune out the snores; this, too, is age-old habit.

Filtering through the large windows of the apartment is an undercurrent of cars rumbling, wind whistling, lights humming. A city breathing as it peacefully slumbers on through the dead hours of the nights.

“Adrien?” By his side, a blanketed lump rolls over and shifts until eyelashes flutter against his bare arm as Marinette peers up at him. “‘s’matter?”

His focus shifts in an instant from the world beyond the windows to his own world tucked up against his side. Suddenly, the restless need to scan the city quiets inside him, the itch soothed by the sleepy concern in Marinette’s voice. He turns towards her, curling his body around her many blankets and draping an arm around her waist to draw her up against his chest until she purrs in contentment at the added heat.

“It’s nothing,” Adrien murmurs against her hair. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Silly kitty,” Marinette sighs against his neck as she drifts back to sleep. “‘m your par’ner.”

There is a whole history in that sigh, of a shared life and love. And at the core, a name. _His_ name, soft and sure in the home of her mouth. Hers to hold, hers to keep.

Adrien’s fingers tighten around her back, just as possessive, but his tone is light as he jokes, “Partners in crime, right bugaboo?”

A muffled grunt from Marinette passes for a vague agreement.

“F...fear-” an enormous yawn splits her words apart, “-us....”

She’s out like a light, dragged back into unconsciousness by the dark smudges ringed beneath her eyes. She looks every inch the exhausted fashion design student rather than a superhero equal to a force of nature; but Adrien knows better. They’ve fought too many akuma battles and saved each other from too many close calls for him to forget, even for a moment, exactly what she is capable of. Particularly when _he_ is threatened.

“Another day,” Adrien promises. He settles himself more comfortably in the nest of blankets and pillows that make up their bed, hoping to fall in the same deep sleep as Marinette. Her breath warms his skin, inviting him to lay easy against her.

He tries. Time ticks slowly away as rest eludes him, leaving him vulnerable to the waking dark.

It’s a battle he won’t win tonight, even with Marinette’s help. He accepts the inevitable by carefully extricating himself from Marinette’s cocoon of blankets before rolling to the edge of the bed. A grumble and curling of Marinette’s form leans into his absence, just as Plagg rolls down into the indent on his pillow and splays himself out to soak in the lingering warmth.

Adrien rolls slowly to standing, stretching out stiff muscles, before padding silently out of the bedroom and into the tiny kitchen.

The large windows peer out over the streets, offering him a view of the lights that still shine from passing cars and lit apartments, spots of gold against midnight blue shadows. Habit has him cracking a window open and listening intently; but there are no cries of alarm, no trouble to be heard.

If sleep will not come and Chat Noir has no need to go bounding into the night, he does the next best thing and pulls out different ingredients from the kitchen instead. Flour poofs into the air as he digs into the bag and measures the appropriate amount before sifting it into a bowl. As he plucks bottles of powdered ginger, cloves, salt, and cinnamon to measure out, a flash of bright red arrests his attention.

“Can’t sleep?” Tikki asks as she flutters over to sit on Adrien’s shoulder.

She already knows the answer. This is not the first time she’s kept him company as he baked the quiet hours away, so Adrien merely hums in reply before finding the block of butter, the bag of sugar, the carton of eggs, and the box of molasses. Making cookies is a therapeutically simple process, especially after so much practice.

As he mixes everything together, he offers some raw cookie dough to Tikki. Grinning, he dips a finger back into the batter as she happily accepts, and procures some of his own cookie dough to munch on with her.

“These are Marinette’s favourites,” Tikki comments as she nibbles daintily at her piece.

“I know,” Adrien hums as he samples his baking. After a moment’s consideration, he picks up the bottle of cinnamon and liberally adds an extra powdering of spice to the batter, knowing that is how Marinette likes it best.

Tikki watches him silently, picking away at her treat. When the last bit is gone, she sparks up to help him measure out balls of dough to roll in a small bowl of sugar.

“You know,” Tikki starts, and when Adrien looks up at her, he’s caught by her bright blue eyes, so much like Marinette’s. There is kindness in that sky, and an infinite wisdom. “You would’ve made a good Ladybug.”

Something about her suggestion humbles him as much as it awes him. And yet, for how astounding an idea that is- him! Adrien Agreste as Ladybug!- it doesn’t sit quite as right in his chest as being Chat Noir. He loves Ladybug, loves Tikki, but he knows better now that he loves Ladybug precisely because there is no one who makes her shine as brightly as Marinette.

They both know that, but Tikki’s faith and trust in him is touching nonetheless. Sugar sparkles faintly in the low light as Adrien gently cups his fingers around Tikki in thanks, the gesture speaking the thousand words he doesn’t know how to say. She nuzzles up against his palm in an affectionate hug, earning herself a shower of sugar over her head.

The moment fades into the quiet of the night as they finish placing sparkling spheres of cookie batter on the greased cookie sheets before sliding them into the warm oven.

Spice curls into the air as the cookies bake, enveloping the kitchen with warm fragrance. Watery, pale fingers of light from false dawn slowly slip into the space, tracing a landscape of flour spotted with cloves and ginger. Footprints disturb the table as Tikki lands to eat crumbs of leftover cookie batter. Her head sparkles with sugar as she dips her head, prompting a chuckle from Adrien as he leans over to rub her head clean.

“You missed a spot,” a voice roughened from sleep carries across the room. Even before Adrien looks up, he knows it’s Marinette who pads over to him to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Mmm… my favourite.”

Despite her sleepiness, her gaze is alert with worn understanding. “Nightmares?”

Adrien slumps into one of the kitchen chairs, scrubbing his face tiredly.

“No,” he admits quietly. “Not this time.” After a beat, he asks back, “You?”

Marinette shakes her head as she takes the chair next to him, slouching down into the large hoodie engulfing her torso. “It just seemed too… quiet.”

Which should only be a good thing for them both. Quiet often comes hand in hand with peace- but sometimes trouble simmers underneath too, waiting for eruption.

It’s a strange space they occupy, treading along the faint line separating night from day, superhero from civilian; but they’ve made a home of it, in this time of magic and monsters. It wouldn’t be a home though without each other. Fighting would’ve felt like a cage long ago if not for Ladybug’s stout heart, and meting out justice would’ve felt more like a chore without Chat’s spirited humour.

“Cookie?” Adrien offers as the oven dings to a finish. Gloves slide onto his hands as he opens the oven doors to lift the trays out.

“As if you had to ask,” Marinette laughs as she tries to pry a cookie from the tray. Her fingers burn in admonishment at her impatience but she merely sucks the warm sugar off her fingertips in thought. “Do you feel it too? The quiet?”

“I hear it,” he admits, gesturing to the open window. He pops a cooling cookie from the tray and offers it to her.

There’d been no nightmares as of late, but the strange, early hours of the morning always brought the thoughts Adrien usually left untouched up to the surface. As he watches the pearl grey dawn gently light upon the freckles constellated over Marinette’s cheeks, the question slips out.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like if we were just… just, normal?” Voicing the question leaves him a little raw and uncertain, but he can’t help but let a wisp of wistfulness twine around his words.

Marinette nibbles daintily at her cookie, the care reminiscent of Tikki. She doesn’t answer right away.

“All the time,” she finally says. “But then I start thinking of how many people would need help, and how I couldn’t be there to save them. Or if you were in trouble and needed me…” Her fingers tighten, crumbling the edges of her cookie. “I couldn’t give up Tikki, even if I wanted to. It’s… this has always been so much bigger than me. Than us.”

A hot prickle of guilt digs into Adrien’s gut. Being Chat Noir had been his whole world, when he’d first started. It gave him a chance to do something, to make his own choices and mistakes. It gave him the chance to meet Ladybug, to become someone to her and to the rest of Paris.

Worry now gnaws at his mind. What had given him everything can also destroy it all in a single touch too, in one cataclysmic stroke. Never has his own power made him more aware of the fragility of his stability, of what he stands to lose.

He has Marinette, and she is Ladybug and _more_. She is a universe condensed; he knows, because loving her has made him feel infinite.

He’d give it all up, for her. For them.

“You worry about the world,” Adrien says, handing her another cookie. “I’ll worry about you.”

The cookie splits neatly in half in Marinette’s hands before she hands a piece back to him. Her blue eyes are bright in the grey light, the intensity of her gaze burning away his shadows.

“Don’t think too much about it,” she suggests. “You know things always look clearer and better in the morning.”

Adrien takes the cookie and bites into it, savouring the warm spices. The worry tucks back into the corners of his mind, away from notice as he grins mischievously at her. “You? Telling me not to think too much? Alya would laugh her way into the new year if she heard you.”

“What can I say? Maybe I’ve picked up a thing or two from you.” Marinette’s answering smile flashes like quicksilver, a tease and a challenge.

“I could rub more off on you,” Adrien offers, leaning over to butt his head against Marinette’s shoulder. Laughter falls from her in waves as she runs her fingers through his hair and trails her ministrations down to his neck. A purr builds in the bottom of Adrien’s chest, rumbling up his throat as Marinette scrapes her nails lightly over the crown of his head.

“Silly kitty,” she giggles, voice thick with affection. “You could give me cravings for camembert, or an even bigger sweet tooth than I already have, or your weird love for physics, or-”

“-the worse thing of all,” Adrien chuckles as he tangles his fingers with hers and brings her palm down to kiss. “I could give you _cooties_.”

“No!” Marinette shrieks with laughter, upsetting the tray as she playfully snatches her hand back. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

A frozen moment bubbles up between them as they stare each other down. The thought descends on them at the same time. Identical grins rise on their faces, lighting their expressions like sunrises.

“Tikki! Spots on!”

“Plagg! Claws out!”

A zip of red and a chime of laughter follows Tikki as she whirls her way into Marinette’s earrings, but a dismayed yowl trails after Plagg as he’s sucked away from his coveted spot on the pillow and into Adrien’s ring. Pink and green light flare in the kitchen in measured harmony, dousing the table in even brighter sparkles than the spilled sugar.

They finish at the same time. A grin splits Ladybug’s face.

“Coincidence?” she suggests as she climbs out the open window. Chat gives her a second’s head start before following, his ears twitching eagerly at the top of his head. His steps fall into her paces exactly, a small detail that gives him pause.

“Nope,” he laughs. “It’s synchronicity.”  

 

* * *

 

Morning cracks over rooftops in rays of thick, honeyed gold, gilding the city with the promise of a fresh new day. Shadows retreat into the corners, sulking in low tones of cool blues and greys.

A whistle sings high into the sky as a yoyo wraps around a chimney, followed swiftly by the knife of Ladybug’s body slicing up into the hazy glow of sunrise. She sails up, bright as a drop of blood, before dropping down abruptly behind a stack of chimneys.

She stills, listening.

No cats prowling over the rooftops, which means the only other direction he could’ve gone was down. The moment the realization crosses her mind, she springs up and over to the next rooftop, abandoning her hiding place.

Not a second too soon, as Chat bursts over the edge of the roof in a spectacular vault. His baton flashes bright silver as it retracts, and he lands on all fours before he lopes after her.

“Running out of steam already?” Ladybug calls over her shoulder as she abruptly switches directions. Her path zigzags over the skyline with no apparent rhyme or reason.

With no particular destination to race to, the chase is on.

“Just getting pumped!” Chat laughs as he drops back down to street level and disappears.

This high up, Ladybug knows she’s too exposed to hide effectively from his eyes, but that’s not the point. The point runs along the empty streets, shadowing her footsteps with every flick of his tail. The point injects adrenaline into their lungs and energy into their muscles, setting fire to the disquiet that made them so restlessly uneasy. The point lies in the world spread before their feet, bright and beautiful and golden.

Impulse hooks into Ladybug’s gut, and instead of leaping over buildings or doubling back to goose Chat from behind, she winds her yoyo around a billboard and launches herself _up_.

The city falls away from her as she soars. Buildings melt into each other to form a textured skin of gold stretching from horizon to horizon, where the dusky blue of night still lingers at the edges. The Eiffel Tower stands proudly in the distance, it's staggering height level with Ladybug’s progress.

Her yoyo reels neatly into her palm as she hits her peak. For a breathless moment, she hangs suspended in place and time with all the world wrapped around her.

Just as she begins to fall, a sharp, thin whistle is the only warning she gets before a familiar baton arrows up from the ground. Chat’s arms scoop her up and balance her on his thigh as he crouches on the extended baton’s tip.

“Hey hot stuff,” Ladybug greets as they sway dangerously in the air. She leans into Chat and shifts her weight to stabilize them, moving naturally with him like second nature. “I like the dramatic entrance.”

“Had to rise to the occasion somehow,” Chat laughs breathlessly. “Seems like you’re the one who’s full of nothing but hot air.”

“And yet you got way up here just the same as me,” she teases.

“I’ve always been hot, there’s no denying that,” Chat agrees gravely before giving way to laughter again as Ladybug elbows him in the side. “I can’t help if it takes me to great heights.”

With a groan, Ladybug grumbles, “One day I’m going to pop that bubble of yours.”

“You know you’re coming down with me then,” he says, entirely unconcerned and wholly amused.

Her smile is carries a familiar edge of mischief. “Good things cats always land on their feet.”

As they settle to a standstill, Ladybug wraps an arm around Chat’s waist to steady herself, flattening her palm against warm leather. Muscle flexes against her fingers as Chat catches his breath; and beneath the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat races as fiercely and thunderously as her own. Her heart feels like a sun expanding within the cage of her ribs, a force greater than confines of her body, as great as the endless sky around them.

From the wild grin on Chat’s face, she knows he feels the very same way: brilliantly and incandescently _alive_.

“I couldn’t give this up,” she says suddenly, her mind still concentrated on his heartbeat at her fingertips. “I could never give _you_ up. A Ladybug is only as good as her Chat Noir.”

With her side pressed up against his like puzzle pieces fitted together, she feels the surprised hum that simmers at the base of his throat and sees the softening at the corners of his expression as he looks at her. “Does that make me your better half?”

“It makes you my _only_ half,” she chuckles, though the lightness of her tone does little to hide the weight of her words. “Don’t you forget it.”

The smile that lights Chat’s face could rival the rising sun. “Never, my lady.”

A long beat of comfortable silence settles over them as they lean into each other and finally rest easy.

“That wasn’t much of a chase,” Chat comments idly after a moment.

“I was taking it easy on you,” Ladybug defends. “Besides…” Right on cue, a persistent growl rumbles through Chat’s belly, staining his cheeks pink. “I know you always get hungry around this time.”

Chat sighs, blowing his bangs upwards. He casts a lingering look at the sight around them, a view they’ve seen a dozen times and will see yet again a dozen more; but Ladybug understands. The sight is always different, the circumstance always changing. A gold peace like this is rare, and best savoured and remembered.

“Well kitty?” Ladybug finally says, poking him in the side in a challenge. “Race you to the bottom!”

And with that, she tips backwards and somersaults off his leg, whooping as she straightens to arrow towards the ground at frightening velocity. An answering whoop follows as Chat dives back down after her, his baton shrinking down in a blink of an eye into his hands. Her yoyo whips out as the buildings grow close, anchoring to a balcony railing and allowing her to regain control for a neat flip to the ground.

Ladybug drops onto the shadowed stairs leading underground to the metro and comes out flying up the sunlit steps on the other side as Marinette. She dances out onto the sunlit street, tilting her head up to feel the faint warmth of the morning sun wash over her cheeks. Her hoodie bounces against her back as she spins around, waiting for Adrien to join her.

But it’s Chat that comes hopping up the steps instead.

“I just realized that I’m just wearing boxers underneath… this,” Chat mutters, gesturing to his suit.

“Oh,” is Marinette’s eloquent reply as her eyes follow the path of his hands down his body. After a long beat, where a knowingly smug grin grows on Chat’s face, she finally drags her eyes back up. “I’ve got an idea.”

Nostalgia runs strong as they find themselves at the Dupain-Cheng bakery, Marinette coming through the front door and Chat bounding up to wait on her balcony. She rushes through greeting her parents and stumbles over an explanation for her appearance before she manages to slip up to her old room.

It doesn’t take long for her to gather up old, spare clothes she’s left in the storage of the familiar space. Arms full, she lifts the trapdoor up to her balcony and spots Chat waiting for her, green eyes glowing in anticipation. Clothes pass over quickly before she runs downstairs to properly join him.

By the time Marinette comes down to kiss her parents farewell with the promise of a visit accompanied by Adrien soon, he’s lounging by the side of the building dressed smartly for the chilly morning air. A familiar sky blue scarf circles his neck snugly, where a grumbling Plagg burrows down to curl up in the collar of his jacket.

Bags weigh Marinette’s arms down as she finally shoulders her way out of the bakery, stuffed heavy with enough fresh baguettes and hot buns to feed an army.

“Let’s swap,” Adrien suggests as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. He gleefully takes several bags, inhaling the savoury smell of fresh bread with gusto.

A grumpy Plagg shoots his head up at the disruption, but he soon disappears again into the soft curtain of Marinette’s hair. A moment later, Tikki flies out and claims his previous spot in Adrien’s scarf, her normal cheer dampened by disgruntlement.

“Ooooh, comfy,” Marinette hums as she shifts a bag of baguettes to sit snugly in the crook of her arm. “And it looks good on me.”

“ _You_ make anything look good,” Adrien chuckles as they begin walking. “You could probably turn these bags into couture.” He inhales deeply again, savouring the delicious smells, before sighing blissfully. “Your parents are amazing.”

“I know,” Marinette laughs. “Now we don’t have to make breakfast!”

“ _I_ don’t have to make breakfast,” Adrien corrects, snorting as he receives an elbow to his ribs.

“I make breakfast sometimes,” Marinette argues.

“Cookies can only sustain us for so long.”

“Long who’s talking wise guy.”

They rib each other back and forth as they stroll leisurely down the empty streets, for all the world the only two souls awake in a still slumbering city. They’ve chased the gold of the early morning light countless times high in the sky, bolstered by superhuman strength, endurance, and agility, one ear always alert for signs of trouble. But now, they’re simply two young adults without a care in the world, watching storefronts slowly blink awake and apartment windows yawn open with the sounds of people starting their day.

How easy it is, Marinette thinks, to be normal. And how hard it is, to fight for it sometimes.

But Adrien’s warmth presses to her side, familiar and reassuring. She laughs as he sneaks a bun to his mouth, chowing down until his red cheeks are stuffed comically full. His squirrel’s smile lasts for only a second before he snorts and chokes his food down, bursting out into laughter. They stumble into each other, breathless with contagious happiness.

This is what Marinette believes: the fight for balance is worth it, for those who deserve it.

And this is what she knows: that she’d do it again, a thousand times over, for him. For them.

As they pass through a marketplace, stalls owners wave at them while they set up their stands. Cheeses and fruits stack up enticingly on displays, while bolts of fabric unfurl down another aisle. Flowers bloom forth from a stall standing next to a booth stuffed full of pastries and treats, enticing them to slow down and look. Even when they pass through to the other side, their steps lag as they drink in the colourful bustle of people and food.

“Hang on,” Marinette says, impulsively gesturing her bag of baguettes for Adrien to take. He takes it without a beat, the confusion clearing up from his expression as she spins on her heel and heads back to the booth bursting with flowers.

Stems topped with dramatic, colourful blooms demand attention, but Marinette’s focus is singular as she reaches past to gather an armful of pure white camellias. The delicate multitude of layered petals whisper against her hands as she digs into her pockets for the appropriate change, coming up with just enough.

The stall owner smiles knowingly as he takes the camellias and wraps their long stems with a clear plastic wrap that reflects white silver as it catches the light.

As Marinette thanks him and takes the bouquet, Plagg rustles around her neck and pokes his head out of the collar of her coat. He’s momentarily captivated by the mountain of cheese a few booths down before his vision is obstructed entirely by the camellias that Marinette lifts up to breathe in.

“Those are Adrien’s favourite,” he notes.

The bouquet of white camellias gleam bright in her hands, but it’s nothing compared to the incredulous and excited beam of a smile that stretches across Adrien’s face as he catches sight of her through the crowd.

“I know,” Marinette laughs. “He always did say I brought him luck.”

“What a funny coincidence,” Plagg comments dryly. “No wonder you stick around.”

Marinette hums as she heads back to where Adrien waits. “It’s more like I’m always coming home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on my [tumblr!](http://matchaball.tumblr.com/post/154939205989/this-alone-is-enough)


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